


'$ 3529 
L47 D3 
917 
opy 1 


) AY^D AY | 

........•......••..•.•............•••.......••.•••••..•••.•••.••.......•....••...........4. 


•••••••••••• 


* f 


a a 
a a 
a a 
a • 
a a 
a • 
a a 
a a 
a • 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a • 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 

a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
• • 




/ Km ]| 


a a 

a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
• a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a 


•aaaaaaaaaaa 


4...aa.aa.......aa.....aa .•.••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••f. 


a a 
a a 

a a 
a a 
a a 

• a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 

• a 

• a 
a a 
a a 
a a 

• a 
a a 

a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a « 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 

• a 
a a 
a a 
a a 
a a 

a a 
a a 

• • 
a • 

•aaaaaaaaaaa 


f f 

I BY PATRICE OLIVER^, | 






•!••••••••••• ••••••••• 



DAY 

• • • • J— <! ^y^ • • • • 

• • • • 1 J X. • • • • 

DAY 

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••a 



BY 

PATRICE 

OLIVER 



1917 Hillcrest Road 

Hollywood 

Cal. 



•••••••••••••••••••«!• 



PUBLISHED AND 

PRINTED BY 

THE ROYCROFTERS 

EAST AURORA 

N. Y. 



'••••••••{•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••a* »••!•••«••••' 



•:!' 



^ 






Copyright 1918 
By Patrice Oliver 



^ 23 /9/g 

©CU499240 



.•••• \ •• 






C THE verses in this 
book are taken from the 
Diary of a little thirteen- 
year-old girl who came 
to California from Ire- 
land. Each poem is a 
record of an important 
event &+ $** *•> *^ 



: ; •• . < 



MAY 1st 



Spring is here. The Yuccas are in 
bloom on the hills. 



The Yucca 




N a mountain- side a Yucca grew, 
And gently in the breeze it blew ; 
Its graceful bells had come forth 
anew, 

At this time of year there were very few. 
Tall and stately and costly rare 
Was the presence of this flower fair. 
Every blossom of this flower, 
A dewdrop had taken for its bower. 
The blossoms were waiting for the sun to see, 
To open, and let the dewdrop free. 
The dewdrops fall on the things around, 
They freshen the leaves, and moisten the 

ground ; 
And this is why the hill is fair 
When you find the Yucca growing there. 



.•••••. .••••■ 



•••• •• •• • •• • •• • •••• 



MAY 7th 



I never heard a cuckoo here, but I 
used to hear them in Ireland. Is n't the 
cuckoo a wise bird? She makes 
somebody else do all her house- 
keeping. 



Call of The Cuckoo 




CROSS the meadows, and by the 

waterfall, 
Echoing through the forest, I hear 

a call. 

Carried on breezes across the heathery hill, 
From afar it comes, the cool air to fill. 
Enchantingly clear it calls — cuckoo, cuckoo — 
Across the mountain and stream it comes to 

greet you. 
It tells of summer and the scent of flowers, 
Of buttercups waked by April showers, 
Of the sun ashine on a sky of blue ; 
And the call is gay and always true 
As it comes from afar over hill and vale, 
Telling with joy its lovely tale. 



•>?<• 



;..• "•• 



MAY 14th 



I don't think California is old enough 
to have fairies, but there are lots in 
Ireland — real ones. 



Fairies 




ANCING where the sun is shining, 
Dancing where the leaves aresighing, 
Dancing on the water's spray, 
Dancing lightly all the day. 

Playing with a drop of dew, 
Softly singing songs I hear you; 
Fairies dressed in gold and green, 
You in flowers I have seen. 

A fairy ringing lily bells 

A little story softly tells, 

Of how to love the flowers sweet 

And the dew that kissed your feet. 



fa.n\cp 



MusiC bj 

MicvMsLcneeOuwr 




iMnc/ff? v^trc thr *<"> is Sbltrivf D&tlCI ti $"*><" **? Lei.ns*r? Si«fc'^? 




V*.ncin$ 


on Ike 


filers Sf**/ 


Pdncirif U$htly 


• • 


04 J. 




± 


—J— 3= 

t 




y -^ j, p w» 


• r 


'<■/ 1 




3"^'6"~r ' d- — j W ~ ■■■■ rf 









MAY 28th 



Uncle Harold has a little white lilac 
tree in his garden. He gave me some 
to-day. 



77? e Ht oocn RloSSOK HuS!C b J 

M&ZV MfLC.net Oliver 



'«??*+» 




but <t U<e thii lonst* *'« Hr ^nJh-hr^l04l).«U'c f*lD. 




hui «<*•& «ny le4>C5 where hviA ta( bees. SVe* if? /ne «.r»D J«« «"U Set < 




RUTD ^ 






gig J j-f=J \J JrJ 



irH-i- 



iH 



ac=f 



•;>> i r 



feni 



d=i 



mm 



(f <(MPo 



4 ft -i i 



^=1 ± T = ¥ E P^ 



=3. — *- 



whrn *A/S Y " <T*T ¥«"''/ Xif* °f Mf th&t ) i>H Q lil*C trCf 



JUNE 1st 



We have some Jessamine growing 
up our house. There is one star out 
to-day. 



To the Jessamine 




IKE^the'morning star blooms a flower 

fair, 
No other blossom with this can 

compare, 
Its starry petals it opens wide, 
And within its bright eye doth abide. 
It smiles at any passer-by 
And sweetly up at the bright blue sky. 
Its smile with you will always stay, 
And will greet you sweetly every day. 
For this bright star will always shine, 
And its name is Jessamine. 






It 



.it 






JUNE 7th 

Roses everywhere! 



The Roses 




WO rose trees in a garden grew, 
Their graceful leaves in the soft wind 

blew, 
Each bore a bud, one red, one 
white, — 
Both were fair in the sun's gold light. 

They had been set against a wall 
Of stony gray, and very tall. 
Each was trying with all its might, 
Before the other to reach the height. 

Slowly they climbed in sun and rain, 
Striving with all their might and main. 
At last the top the red rose gained, 
For the soft white rose in cold had waned. 

Proudly she tossed her pretty head, 
Waving her petals, velvet red. 
Haughty she gazed from her seat so high, 
And smiled at the breezes gliding by. 

A daisy below, in a grassy bed, 

Looked up at the rose, and smiling said, 

" From the top of that stony wall 

Some day you 're sure to fall. 

For at such a height, you can't keep steady, 

But as for me, I 'm here already." 



JUNE 14th 



There are no skylarks in this country, 
I am sorry because I am very fond 
of them. They are my favorite birds. 



The Skylark 




HEN the golden sun is waking, 
And the morning dew is shaking 
On the lily cups and cowslips fair, 
Swayed by gentle zephyrs rare, 

Look to the gray sky, and, O hark! 

To the voice of the blithe Skylark. 

The very clouds it soars above, 
Singing its song of joy and love. 
Like a gold spot in a cloudy bed, 
With the morning sun behind its head. 
So look at the sky and, O hark! 
To the voice of the blithe Skylark. 

It knows the glory of the morn, 
The falling dew is its rising horn, 
No one can tell the joy it feels, 
As with its song the heart it heals. 
So look to the sky and, O hark! 
To the voice of the blithe Skylark. 



:••.....•, 


•••: 


r A ••: 








:..• 


•••••■ 


•..: 



JUNE 21st 

I saw some Forget-me-nots to-day. 



The Forget-Me-Not 




LUE as the sky on a summer's day, 
Green are its leaves as the month of 

May; 
Sweet is its scent as it fills the air, 
Turning its face to the sun's gold glare. 
Sweetly it sings as it sways in its spot, 
11 Oh, forget me not, forget me not." 

It sings so sweetly the whole day long, 

And this is part of its little song. 

" Oh, come and pick me, come and pick me, 

And from this ground, oh, set me free ; 

Among other flowers have you forgot 

The poor little blue Forget-me-not? " 

"Oh, here some one comes, stepping so light 

Her hair is black as starry night. 

Her cheeks are pink and her eyes are blue, 

Her lips rosy red, and she is true. 

For she has come, and has not forgot 

The poor little blue Forget-me-not." 



\ • • •* 



JUNE 28th 



I saw on the placards to-day "Home 
Rule for Ireland at last " / So I 
wrote a poem about it. If it is n't 
true this must just be a prophecy. 



Ireland 




IKE a gem in the ocean, a green Isle 

doth lie, 
You could ne'er find one like it, far 

away or near by. 
O'er flowery meadows there you wander, 
By blue shining lakes, there you ponder ; 
Sweet is the odor of the cooling breeze, 
Green are the leaves of the swaying trees. 
There you find gardens so fair 
That have ne'er known a care : 
And there a home finds sweet love, 
And there her nest makes the dove. 
For the sun has risen and shines bright on the 

Isle, 
And over and done with, is its hard trial. 
And like one long summer's day 
Now this green Isle will stay. 



•!*• .••*••• •••*••• _•••*••• ••••••>» £k 

/ \ 






JULY 1st 

Summer has come. It is very warm. 



Summer 




UMMER, clad in robes of pink and 
white, 

Dances o'er the meadows with a 
footstep light, 
Lifts the cloudy veil from the sun's bright face, 
And away the dreary rain doth chase. 
She kisses the flower-buds with her rosy lips 
And into the dew her white feet dips. 
She dances and sings the whole day long, 
Of life and joy is her gladsome song. 
Her voice can be heard over land and sea 
And whoever hears, feels happy and free. 



But when Autumn comes, and the brown leaves 

fall, 
And the wind gently sways the poplars tall, 
She lies down on the ground with a gentle sigh 
And the whispering brook is her lullaby. 
But you need not sigh when Autumn comes 
And the busy bee no longer hums, 
For she sleeps through long Autumn, Winter 

and Spring, 
But rises again when the robins sing. 



JULY 7th 

This is the day to think of a waterfall 



The Waterfall 




HINING in the sun all day, 
Cooling flowers with its spray, 
Over rocks and stones a-leaping, 
Through the grass and leaves a- 
peeping, 
Down a mountain dashed a waterfall — 
Listening to the birds that call 
And answering them, with a laugh or a song. 
Through the night that 's short and the day 

that 's long, 
If you follow it to its very end, 
You will find through fields and meadows it 

doth wend, 
Till at last it floweth into the sea, 
There forever it dances, happy and free. 
And that is why it hurries so, 
For into the sea it longs to flow. 



• »•• • *•« 



JULY 14th 

And Lough Ree in Ireland. 



Where the Shamrocks 
Sweetly Blow 




HERE the flowers always bloom 
And the birds are singing soon, 
Where the breeze is always cool, 
And the iris by the pool — 

There my heart will always stray, 

By the lakes far, far away. 

Where the stream will always flow 
And the shamrocks sweetly blow, 
Where the fairies dance by night, 
In the silvery moonlight, — 
In that vale my heart will stray 
By the lakes far, far away. 



!»• ... • • .... \ ••: 



• •••••• j 



•••• 



JULY 21st 



And the Bog where I went in my 
bare feet, and gathered the bog- 
cotton to put in a locket. Bog-cotton 
is very pretty. Canawan is the Irish 
name for it. I wanted to learn Irish 
before I came out here but I could n't 
find anybody to teach me. 



The Canawan 




N the bog where rise the mists 
And the parting sunbeam lists, 
And where beauty always dwells, 
y And the bird its story tells, 
When all the flowers are faded and gone, 
Still grows the Irish Canawan. 



Irish Canawan, dhas! 
Blooming in the leaves and grass, 

1 can see you on the bog 
Swaying in the dew and fog, 
As the love in my heart for you, 
Little Canawan, is true. 



:••• 


.••••« 


•••: 




a 




















:.•• 


*•..: 



JULY 24th 



This is the sort of house I intend to 
have some day. 



The House at the Bog-Side 




LITTLE house at the bog- side, 
With a little garden around, 
Where trees and bright flowers abide, 
And the voice of the skylarks sound. 



There in the house at the bog -side, 
With the little garden around, 
Midst the trees and flowers that bide, 
A maiden with blue eyes I found. 

Clear through the house at the bog-side, 
Through the little garden around, 
Where trees, and bright flowers abide, 
The voice of a maiden doth sound. 

There in the house at the bog -side, 
In the little garden around, 
With maiden, and flowers that bide, 
The love of my heart I have wound. 



•-•v «.••::•• 






JULY 28th 



I am writing a Lullaby to send home 
to a little baby — 



A Lullaby 




LEEP — sleep — for night is here ; 
The flowers close their petals dear, 
In the forest the soft wind blows, 
In the sky the bright moon glows. 
Close your eyes in slumber sweet, 
In your sleep a dream you '11 meet. 



Softly — softly — gentle Sleep 

From the forest dark doth creep, 

Holding in her hands for you 

A little, happy dream or two. 

So sleep — sleep — for night is here; 

Close your eyes in slumber dear. 



X 



AUG. 1st 

It must be nice to be a shepherd. 



The Shepherd 




HEN the gold sun rises o'er the hills 
The shepherd's clear note the cool 

air fills ; 
Coming up from the shady vale, 
Tripping along by blossoms frail. 

All day he wanders o'er hill and plain, 
Softly whistling through sun and rain, 
Guiding his herd to a sparkling stream 
Or leading them safe to pastures green. 

And then at eve or at fall of night, 

When the evening star sheds its tiny light — 

When the flowers close and the birds cease to 

roam, — 
With a song he brings them safely home. 



»••••••••••••», 

.•••••. .•••••..*&. 



A. 



AUG. 7th 



Maev asked me to go and hear her 
play the organ to-day. 



Music 




gay, 



WEET, soft music, as gentle as 

falling dew, 
It is not in banquet halls I seek you; 
Nor in the brightly lighted ballroom 



Nor do I search for you on a sunny day, 

In dark churches where the organist doth play. 

But I wander over shining hills and vales, 

By lakes and trees and flowery dales. 

For there is music in the rustling of the leaves, 

There is gentle music in the soft and cooling 

breeze, 
Music murmurs in the humming of the bees. 
There is music in the splashing of the seas, 
There is music by the laughing fountain fair, 
There is soft, sweet and gentle music there. 



(J 



AUG. 14th 



The Mimosa trees in our garden are 
in flower. I wrote a poem to-day, 
sitting in one of them. 



In the Mimosa Tree 




ITTING in a cloud of gold, 
With soft leaves that about me fold, 
I sit on a bough of the Mimosa tree, 
Swaying, swaying, soft and free. 



Through the golden boughs I see to the west 
The sun in its glory, going to rest. 
Midst fairy-like clouds of orange and red, 
I watch it slip into the sea to bed. 

But my tree is the sun itself, 
And in it I sway like a happy elf, 
Till the cool purple fall of night ; 
Sitting in the Sun's gold light. 



• \ / 

•\ V S> 

•• •• •• ■ 

• «• •« 



SEPT. 1st 



Summer is supposed to be over. The 
seasons get mixed up in this country, 
but the trees seem to know autumn 
is coming. 



The Call of the Wind 




LITHESOME wind through the forest 

blows, 
Ruffling the stream that softly flows, 
Calling aloud to the flutt'ring leaves ; 
" Come, come! Leave your Mother Trees; 
Come in the fields and dance away, 
Come, little leaves, and with me play! " 

Above, the sun gives a little smile, 

The fleecy clouds laugh all the while, 

And far down below sings the gladsome breeze 

As it merrily, merrily turns the leaves — 

" How happily we dance and blow: 

Ah, the world is really not so slow! " 



.••. „•••••. ,»••••• •••••% .•••••. ••: 

•••• • •• • •• • •• * •••• 



/y 



OCT. 1st 

Autumn has come, and so has school. 



Autumn 




HEN Autumn comes she tints the 

land 
Gold and red, with a gentle hand, 
With a veil she covers the sky, 
Singing, " Sleep, sleep, for Winter is nigh." 

The petals of the lovely rose 
Softly, gently and slowly close. 
The Morning Glory shuts her eye, 
But just to wake up by-and-by. 

Then, when every flower sleeps, 
One little blossom shyly peeps 
And says, nodding her violet head, 
" It 's not quite time to go to bed." 



• •• • • • - w 

• ••• • • ••• • 

"•••...••* *• •** 



NOV. 1st 



Soon it will be winter — / like 
snowy winter — like this. 



Winter 




ITH soft clouds the sky is gray 
And the sun has sunk down far away, 
Evening shadows steal o'er the land 
And drops of dew on the flowers 
stand. 

Darker and darker the shadows grow, 
Till through the clouds soft moonbeams show, 
Then from above comes a snowflake band 
To make the world like a fairyland. 

Softly, softly, like fairies' feet 
Against the window-pane they beat — 
Draping the trees in tresses white, 
Covering the ground with crystals bright. 

And in their midst the snowflake s bring 
Crowned with crystals, Jack Frost, their King 
Who paints the windows, through the night, 
Softly by the silvery light. 

When the sun rises midst golden light, 
To chase away the shades of night, 
Jack Frost and his snowflake band 
Have made the world like fairyland. 



Good-Night 




IGHT and shadows coming, 
Crickets softly humming, 
Flowers slowly closing, 
All in peace reposing. 



Stars are softly twinkling, 
Dew is gently sprinkling, 
Moon is softly glowing, 
Breezes softly blowing. 

Peace alone is waking, 
Love alone is quaking, 
Dreams alone are peeping, 
Through the eye-lids sleeping. 



•:•• «•••••• ••••••• .»•••••• ••••••- ••!• 



'•••" jt \ "•••• 



• •••••• • 

v./ •.;.•• 



S^^ZK^ » <L>«~~ *y 



currK 'V^ciior 



1V\»«A-». I 



JLv. 'V****-^ 



0-fi*~-»n. 



'^ 



•A SKcd 



o^».o. SKouJ ows 



a Cf^tk*^» Ao^fiU W— ~*~~a TSlcr~-«^.'^ko*Ji*«&*rj~«v« 




&W v^«. ^j^,. uj. s&- 



% 



<w> <v\« -»> 



^^fcftv.t^vAja ^ ^lA*^ V>, CyvSSU-K ^ <^>wvJk*~- «* 




Jr . fLi | J. 1 


f~~^ 


PsuNft«^u» >»JaSu 




M: [ 3 1 


-*- 








^ Vet 




_J 1 


— 1 S 




-i- \ 


— v •— 




W\*0 oXir-4 V» Q-m. cJtww ft ^W»*»« o_Q«^». a** rtuJJM{U~ </wC/>-i»^ Q*. "Xjk» .fe^jJUA* <$<a*Q«aa Q 



f fin it *tts flrnu A mi 



Hi 



393 10 ™« ^ 



